DAY 14: “I’ve seen the same Seine you saw”

I’ve been gone two weeks and it feels like two days- Paris is flying by before my eyes! Corn flakes and a banana this morning, saving croissants for the weekend.  I did my laundry for the first time this trip in the sink with dishwashing soap (every place that sold laundry detergent was closed!) and hung it all on hangers out the window. I then decided to walk along the Seine since the sun was trying to come out. I found myself at the center court of the Louve housing the famous glass pyramid. I can’t wait to check out the museum (Thursday), along with 5,000 strangers. Wouldn’t it be nice to get private tours of these places, without seeing another soul? Yeah right…

 I’ve been needing a haircut, so I found a Tony & Guy on Rue de St. Honore- they shampooed my hair for 10 minutes, gave me a head massage and the best haircut I’ve ever received! It makes you wonder how it’ll turn out when all of the sylists have funky, weird, half-shaved, half-dyed, punkish heads-o-hair, but I still look semi-normal. Apparently they (Tony & Guy) specialize in the Euro-short hair styles… whatever.  I quickly grabbed more ramen at another Sapparro’s and walked over to the Bourse du Commerce (looked like a church, not quite sure…)- big and beautiful non-the-less. I imagine their prisons looks like palaces. I continued into a large Forum (mall) to get a few warmer pieces, as I haven’t stopped shivering for the last four days.

The sun had just set when I walked outside, so I wandered to Champs Elysees to witness one of the most outstanding spectacles I’ve ever seen. The Eiffel tour was glowing, riverboats skimmed while lights from the bridges reflected off the water. The top half of the sky was periwinkle and purple with heather grey splashes of clouds, while the bottom a tangerine orange from the city lights. I stood on a bridge in front of a palace (surprisingly alone) and took it all in.

On my way back towards St. Germain, I stopped in antique stores along rue le Mauberg and found a great little wine place called Vin 7. I had to stop. I ordered 6 Burgundy snails with garlic butter and a Sauvignon Blanc. Does it look bad when I am shoving my bread into the shell to get every last flavor morsel? It was that good. There were a few other soldiers dining solo and my waiter, Gentle Ben was VERY Bennie- on-the-spot. You WILL NOT find a young man or woman waiting tables or bartending. They are all older men (I almost said gentlemen, but I’ve gotten some real doozies) who pride themselves very much on their occupation. I believe a full mustache is encouraged, but not mandatory. It’s nice when they’re nice, but again, the whole wall staring contest bit gets old. I love that restaurants use old liquor bottles as water bottles. I passed a guy with half a bottle of Absolut on his tiny café table and I wanted to sit with him and tell him everything would be ok…

Metropolitan. I’m dedicating this next paragraph to the people of the underground….

-To the crazy broad that stumbles across the gap to yell profanities, lecturing fellow passengers of what is good and right and why we should be giving her our money. I wonder what she’d do if you popped her in the snot box?

- To the couples that insist on making out at EVERY stop or their existence, as they know it, will end. And they sound like the woman sitting across from me at lunch slurping up her ramen noodles. Gag.

-To the woman who itched her face for the duration of SEVEN stops. Meth? Maybe. I just wish I knew how to say “You’ll only make it worse” in French.

- To the dogs- seeing-eye, miniature/designer/toy somethings, St. Bernards… even the homeless people have dogs in their laps! I had a guy laying across the steps in a back (creepy, dark) stair case with 3 dogs around him- I jumped about three feet into a guy behind me when I turned the corner. Can I give your dog money for food and not you because you’ll probably use it to buy drugs?? Great, thanks.

- To the only hunchbacks I’ve seen near Notre Dame, the old ladies that poke their canes and yell at younger people… everyone… because they want to sit down/deserve a seat. And they get off at the next stop.

- To the people that step on with their nose in a book, don’t flinch when the train moves, and without batting an eyelash, step off the train like clockwork. I call them Pro Subbers.

- And finally, to the tourists that lug 3 rolling suitcases on, let them tip over while they rip out their map and ask me for directions… ha!

When I returned to my flat, I had a “pink slip,” written in French, under my door. Oh crap. Was I playing my music too loud when I had my private dance party last night??  I scrambled for my French-English dictionary and made out “window” and “line”… Ahhhhh, no hanging skivvies out the window, phew!

Off to Versailles tomorrow, au revoir!